Chapter 8: The Morning After
Rebecca woke to the soft push of morning light through gauze curtains, and for one dizzying moment, she didn't know where she was.
The ceiling above her was white and vaulted, with a single exposed beam running its length like a scar. The sheets beneath her were black silk, cool against her skin, and she was naked. She knew she was naked because she could feel the air moving across her body, across the new landscape of her own flesh, and the sensation was so acute it made her gasp.
She sat up slowly, and the weight of her chest shifted with the motion, a heavy, pendulous sway that pulled at her spine. Her breasts were full and round, each one larger than her head had been just a day ago. The nipples were dark pink, almost rose-colored, and they pebbled instantly in the cool morning air, sending a jolt of electricity straight to her core.
She reached down to touch one, tentative, and the contact made her whole body hum. The flesh was soft but firm, yielding under her fingers, with a weight that was both alien and deeply, profoundly right.
"Oh," she breathed, and her voice was a high, honeyed sound that she barely recognized. "Oh, hello."
Her name was Rebecca. No— her name was Rebecca. She was pretty. She was the prettiest girl in the room. She was a slut.
The word surfaced in her mind like a bubble in still water, and she felt a pulse of warmth between her thighs. She shifted on the bed, and the sensation of the cool silk against her bare cunt made her shiver with pleasure.
She wanted to touch herself.
She wanted to touch herself so badly that her hand was already sliding down her belly, past the new curve of her waist, through the neat strip of blonde hair that sat above her soaked slit. But before her fingers could reach the slick, aching bundle of nerves at her center, she heard the click of a door opening.
Vivienne entered the room carrying a tray, and Rebecca froze, her hand frozen halfway between her thighs. She looked up at her, wide-eyed, and was met with an amused smile.
"Good morning, darling," Vivienne said, setting the tray on the nightstand. "You're awake earlier than I expected."
"I—" Rebecca's mouth opened, but the words were slow, sticky. "I woke up."
"Indeed you did." Vivienne sat on the edge of the bed, and the mattress dipped under her weight. She was wearing a simple white silk robe, tied loosely at the waist, and her dark hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. "How do you feel?"
Rebecca thought about the question. The process of thinking was strange, now—it was like wading through honey, every thought coming slowly and willingly, wrapping itself in a soft pink haze before it reached her lips.
"I feel good," she said, and the words were honest. "I feel— soft. And warm. And—" She looked down at her hands, at her new breasts, at the way her body curved in ways it never had before. "I feel like me."
Vivienne's smile widened. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."
She reached for the tray and lifted a glass of champagne, the pale liquid fizzing gently in the morning light. She handed it to Rebecca, who took it with both hands, feeling the cool glass against her palms.
"Drink," Vivienne said. "It'll help with the sensitivity."
Rebecca brought the glass to her lips, and the champagne was cold and sharp, washing over her tongue. She drank deeply, feeling the bubbles spreading through her chest, and when she lowered the glass, she noticed the strawberries.
They sat in a crystal bowl, glossy and perfectly ripe, their seeds catching the light like tiny jewels. She wanted one. She wanted one so badly that her mouth was already watering.
"Please," she said, and the word came out as a small, hopeful whimper. "May I have a strawberry?"
Vivienne picked one up by its stem and held it to Rebecca's lips. The round red flesh pressed against her mouth, and she opened, letting Vivienne slide it inside. The taste burst across her tongue—sweet, lush, alive—and she moaned softly as she bit down.
Juice rolled down her chin, and Vivienne caught it with her thumb, bringing it up to Rebecca's lips.
"Lick," she said.
Rebecca licked. The warmth of the command shot through her body, and her cunt clenched reflexively. The taste of the strawberry juice on Vivienne's skin was heady, intoxicating, and she found herself chasing her thumb with her tongue even after the taste was gone.
"There's a good girl," Vivienne murmured.
The phrase sent a violent thrill through Rebecca's body. She felt her thighs sliding apart of their own accord, her hips tilting forward, offering herself. The need between her legs had grown from a throb to a desperate, consuming ache.
Vivienne's hand landed on her thigh, warm and possessive, and Rebecca gasped at the contact.
"Please," she said, and she wasn't sure what she was asking for— she just knew she needed more. "Please, I need— please—"
"What do you need, Rebecca?" Vivienne's fingers traced idle circles on her inner thigh, moving closer to where Rebecca ached. "Tell me what you need."
"I need you to touch me." Rebecca spread her legs wider, shameless, her vulnerability a weapon she wielded with unthinking precision. "I need you to make me come. Please, I'll beg. I'll do anything."
Vivienne's eyes gleamed, dark and pleased. She slid her hand up Rebecca's thigh, and when her fingers finally reached her cunt, she let out a satisfied hum.
"You're soaked," she observed. "You're absolutely dripping for me."
"Yes," Rebecca whimpered. "Yes, I'm so wet, I can't help it, you make me so wet—"
Vivienne's fingers slid through her folds, spreading the slick wetness up to her clit. The touch was light, teasing, and Rebecca bucked her hips, trying to chase more friction.
"Not yet," Vivienne said. "I want to take my time with you."
She withdrew her hand, and Rebecca let out a cry of frustration. But before she could protest further, Vivienne was rising from the bed, moving to a drawer in the sleek black dresser that stood against the wall.
She returned with a harness and a strap-on, the silicone cock standing proud and thick, its veins molded with realistic detail.
Rebecca's eyes widened. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of wetness between her thighs, and she felt her mouth drop open.
"Please," she breathed. "Please, I want it."
"You'll get it," Vivienne said, stepping into the harness and adjusting the straps. "But first, I want to taste you."
She pushed Rebecca back onto the bed, and Rebecca went willingly, sinking into the silk sheets. Vivienne settled between her thighs, her hands gripping Rebecca's hips, and she looked up at her for a moment, holding her gaze.
"You're beautiful like this," she said. "You're everything I wanted you to be."
Then she lowered her head and her mouth found Rebecca's cunt.
Rebecca choked. Her back arched off the bed, her fingers twisting into the sheets. Vivienne's tongue was flat and hot, pressing a long, slow stroke from her entrance to her clit. The sensation was a blade of pure fire, and Rebecca cried out—an incoherent, animal sound that she couldn't have shaped into words even if she'd wanted to.
Vivienne licked her with maddening patience. She circled her clit lazily, drawing out each stroke, letting Rebecca feel every inch of her tongue. Then she pushed into her, her tongue sliding inside the dripping entrance, and Rebecca felt herself tightening around it, trying to hold it. The way Vivienne touched her, soft and cruel at once, made her lose what fragile grip she had on thought. She clutched her own breasts, squeezing the full flesh, pinching her nipples, and each tug sent a jolt of sensation straight to her clit.
"Please," she babbled. "Please, please, please— I need to come, please, let me come—"
Vivienne pulled back, her chin glistening with Rebecca's wetness. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Rebecca sobbed. "Yes, please, I'm so ready, I need it so bad—"
Vivienne positioned the strap-on against her entrance, pressing the tip against her slick folds.
"Say it," she commanded.
The word trembled on Rebecca's lips, eager even through her desperation. "Slut."
It hit her like a shockwave. The word flooded her mind with pink static, dissolving every last thread of resistance. She felt herself open, her body yielding, as Vivienne pushed forward.
The cock slid into her in one smooth thrust, and Rebecca screamed. The sensation was overwhelming—the heavy stretch of her walls, the deep pressure that spread through her whole pelvis. She felt so full. Her hips were stuffed so full she thought she might split apart.
"Fuck," she gasped. "Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck—"
"Look at you," Vivienne said, pulling out slow and pushing back in harder. "Look at how perfectly you take my cock." Her voice was rough, breathless with enjoyment.
Rebecca couldn't look. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and the only thing she could see behind her lids was the explosion of white light that bloomed at the center of her vision. Her hands clawed at the sheets, her legs wrapped around Vivienne's waist, her heels digging into the small of Vivienne's back.
"More," she begged. "Please, harder, I need it harder—"
Vivienne obliged. She pulled out until only the tip was inside, then slammed forward, burying the full length in a single brutal thrust. Rebecca's body convulsed, her mouth making a sound that didn't even fit in her throat as she clawed at Vivienne's back.
"Yes," she screamed. "Yes, like that, right there, please, don't stop—"
Vivienne fucked her with a punishing rhythm. Her hips snapped against Rebecca's, skin slapping against skin, the wet sounds of Rebecca's arousal filling the room. She reached forward and grabbed a fistful of Rebecca's blonde hair, yanking her head back, making her neck arch into a taut, beautiful line.
"You're my little slut," Vivienne said, her voice a low growl against Rebecca's throat. "Aren't you?"
"Yes," Rebecca sobbed. "Yes, I'm your slut, I'm your fucking little slut, I'll be anything you want me to be—"
The words came from somewhere deep inside her, from the hollow space where Richard used to live. Now that space was filled with pink light and the shape of her own submission, and it felt better, it felt truer, than anything she could comprehend.
"I'm coming," she cried. "Please, I'm coming, please, I'm going to come—"
"Come," Vivienne ordered, thrusting deep inside her. "Come around my cock like a good little girl."
Rebecca shattered.
The orgasm tore through her with a force that left her blind. Her body convulsed, her cunt clenching hard around the strap-on, squeezing it like she was trying to milk it. She felt her own wetness flooding out, soaking both their thighs, pouring onto the silk sheets. Her mouth opened, but the scream was lost somewhere between her brain and her lips, emerging as an incoherent, keening whine.
"Slut," she gasped, as she continued to convulse and release. "Slut. Slut. Slut."
Each repetition stretched the orgasm wider, made it sear across her skin. She felt herself floating, weightless, dissolving into the flood of pleasure.
Vivienne continued to thrust, slower now, drawing out every last tremble of Rebecca's climax. When she finally pulled out, Rebecca felt the emptiness like a physical blow. She collapsed into the sheets, her chest heaving, her body trembling like a leaf.
Her cunt gaped, wet and red and thoroughly fucked. She could feel her own slickness running down her inner thigh, and from a distant, unthinking part of her, she felt pride.
"Come here," Vivienne said gently, removing the strap-on and sliding onto the bed beside her.
Rebecca curled into her, tucking her face into the crook of Vivienne's neck. The silk robe was soft against her cheek, and Vivienne's arms closed around her, holding her close.
"Thank you," Rebecca whispered. "Thank you for making me this. Thank you for making me yours."
Vivienne stroked her hair, along the line of her blonde wig. "It's my pleasure, darling."
They stayed like that for a long moment, Rebecca's heart slowly steadying, her body slowly settling into its new reality. She felt soft and content and utterly satisfied, a warm haze that wrapped around her like a blanket.
"Can I ask a question?" she said.
"Anything."
"What happens now?" She pulled back, her brow furrowed in that new, girlish uncertainty. "I— I don't remember what I even did before. What I was."
Vivienne's smile was slow and satisfied. "What you were doesn't matter anymore. I've taken care of all that."
"Taken care of it? How?"
"I made some calls." Vivienne rose, moving to the tall closet door and sliding it open, revealing an array of beautiful dresses in a spectrum of colors. "Your former life has been dissolved. The apartment was empty when I checked. Your phone is a useless brick. You left a few personal things behind—prints and sketches, I believe—but I've donated them.
Richard's entire existence, gone.
Rebecca didn't feel sad. She felt relief, a deep, sighing release. The pressure of being him—of trying to be a man, trying to be strong, trying to be something he wasn't—lifted off her shoulders like a physical weight.
"What will I do now?" she asked.
"You'll be my companion. My protégée." Vivienne selected a dress from the closet, a rose-colored sheath with a plunging neckline, and held it up against Rebecca. "You'll learn to be beautiful, to be desired, to be everything that Richard could never have been."
Rebecca looked at the dress, at the way it shimmered in the light.
"That sounds nice," she said.
"It will be." Vivienne laid the dress on the bed. "But first, I have one more gift for you."
She crossed to a small leather box on her vanity and returned with a dark glass vial in her hands. The liquid inside was the color of midnight, swirling with a faint iridescence.
"What is it?" Rebecca asked.
"The final stage," Vivienne said. "When Richard was still in there, fighting, I planned to use this to give you your new face. The cheekbones. The jawline. The lips. But now that he's gone, I think you should have the choice."
Rebecca looked at the vial. In its dark depths, she could see a version of herself that was more beautiful, more feminine, more perfectly hers.
"I want it," she said.
"Are you sure? The process will be intense."
"I don't care." She reached for the vial, taking it from Vivienne's hand. "I want to be beautiful. I want to be perfect."
"Then drink."
Rebecca didn't hesitate. She uncorked the vial and brought it to her lips. The liquid was thick and cold, tasting of copper and honey, and it coated her throat as she swallowed.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then fire.
It started in her cheekbones, a deep, grinding ache that radiated outward to her jaw. She gasped, dropping the vial, her hands flying to her face. Her skull seemed to be reshaping itself, shifting beneath her skin. Her brow smoothed, her jaw narrowed, her cheekbones rose and sharpened.
"Breathe," Vivienne said, her hand on Rebecca's shoulder. "Let it work."
Rebecca breathed. The pain was exquisite, a furnace burning through her, remaking her from the inside out. She felt her lips swell, plumping like ripened fruit. Her nose refined, its bridge narrowed by an invisible hand. Her chin drew in, soft and delicate.
And as the pain subsided, she felt something else. She felt the final remnants of Richard—his sharp edges, his struggles, his constant, gnawing chatter—fade away like mist.
Her hands dropped from her face. She turned to the mirror.
The woman who stared back at her was stunning.
Her face was a perfect blend of high-fashion glamour and soft, feminine innocence. Her cheekbones were knives, her lips were pillows, her eyes were wide and doe-like, framed by lashes that needed no mascara. Her skin glowed, poreless and luminous.
"That's me," she whispered.
"Yes," Vivienne said. "That's you."
Rebecca touched her reflection, tracing the line of her jaw, the arch of her brow. She was so beautiful that she wanted to cry.
"I'm perfect," she said.
"You are." Vivienne came up behind her, her hands settling on Rebecca's new hips. "And you're mine. Forever."
Rebecca leaned back into her embrace, and she felt the warmth of her creator wrapping around her like a cocoon.
"I'm yours," she echoed. "Forever and ever."
She looked at the dress, at the rose-colored sheath waiting on the bed. Outside, the city glittered in the morning light, and she felt the promise of the day stretching before her—each moment coated in pretty pink silk.
She wanted to put on the dress. She wanted so desperately to put on the dress.
"Wait," she said, a thought surfacing. "Where are we going?"
Vivienne's smile was a blade. "We're going to a party, my darling. A party where everyone will see exactly what I've made you into."
The car moved through the city like a black shark through still water, and Rebecca pressed her face to the window, watching the buildings blur past. Every light, every sign, every face on the sidewalk seemed to shimmer with a new intensity, as though the world had been polished just for her.
She ran her hands over her thighs, feeling the smooth expanse of her own skin through the slit in the rose-colored dress. The fabric was cool and heavy, clinging to every curve of her new body like a second skin. The neckline plunged deep between her breasts, and when she breathed, she could feel the weight of them pressing against the edge of the material.
"Stop fidgeting," Vivienne said, not unkindly. "You'll ruin the lines."
Rebecca stilled her hands. "Sorry. I just— I've never worn anything like this before."
"I know." Vivienne reached over and brushed a strand of blonde hair from Rebecca's cheek. "That's why I chose it for you."
The car pulled up to a curb lined with sports cars and limousines. A velvet rope separated the sidewalk from a set of glass doors, and beyond them, Rebecca could see the warm glow of a space filled with people. Music pulsed through the walls, a low, thrumming bass that seemed to vibrate in her bones.
"Is this where the party is?" she asked.
"This is where your new life begins," Vivienne said. "Stay close to me. Smile when I smile. And remember— if you feel overwhelmed, just say the word."
Rebecca nodded. She could feel the trigger word sitting at the back of her mind, a smooth, polished stone that she could pick up whenever she needed it.
A valet opened the door, and Vivienne stepped out first, unfolding herself from the car with the grace of a panther. Rebecca followed, and the moment her heels touched the pavement, she felt the weight of attention settle on her like a coat.
People were looking. All of them. The men, the women, the staff at the door. She heard a low whistle from somewhere in the crowd, and she felt her cheeks flush with heat that was equal parts embarrassment and pride.
Vivienne took her hand and led her through the glass doors.
The space inside was a converted warehouse. Exposed brick walls soared toward a ceiling strung with industrial lights, casting pools of amber illumination across the polished concrete floor. A bar ran the length of one wall, tended by a man with intricate tattoos covering his arms. To the right was a dance floor, bodies moving in a haze of smoke and strobes. To the left, a series of booths with low leather seating, each one occupied by people whose beauty seemed almost unreal.
Rebecca drank it all in, her head swimming with the sensory overload. The air was thick with perfume and sweat, and the bass of the music thrummed through her chest, matching the rhythm of her heartbeat.
"What do I do?" she asked, leaning close to Vivienne's ear.
"You circulate," Vivienne said. "You smile. You let them look. You let them want."
A hand touched Rebecca's arm, and she startled. A man had appeared at her side, tall and silver-haired, with a face that was all sharp angles and knowing eyes.
"Well, well," he said, his gaze roaming over her with obvious appreciation. "Vivienne, where did you find this vision?"
"She came to me fully formed," Vivienne said, her smile a blade. "I simply showed her the light."
The man laughed, and his hand moved from Rebecca's arm to the small of her back. "And what's your name, vision?"
Rebecca felt the words float up from the depths of her pink-hazed mind. "Rebecca."
"Rebecca." The man rolled the name around on his tongue like a piece of candy. "I'm Julian. I own this place."
She looked around again, at the space that was so effortlessly chic and dangerous. It felt like a place where secrets came to die.
"It's beautiful," she said.
"You're beautiful." Julian leaned closer, and Rebecca could smell the expensive cologne on his collar. "How long have you been with Vivienne?"
"A day," she said. It felt like a lifetime. "A day and a half, maybe."
"A day." Julian's eyebrows rose. "And you've already got the walk, the dress, the—" he gestured at her face, "—the whole package. Vivienne must have worked her magic."
"She did." Rebecca felt the words leaving her mouth without her having to think. "She made me everything."
Julian's smile was slow. "Would you like a drink?"
She looked to Vivienne for permission, and Vivienne gave a small, approving nod.
"Yes," Rebecca said. "I'd love one."
Julian led her toward the bar, and she felt the gaze of the room tracking them. Her heels clicked on the floor; her hips swayed in the dress. She felt like a butterfly pinned to a board, but instead of a pin, she had the warmth of Vivienne's approval inside her.
The bartender made her something pink and sweet, presented with a flourish. Rebecca sipped it, and the sugar hit her bloodstream like a drug, making her feel lightheaded and bright.
"Vivienne's protégées never last long," Julian said, leaning against the bar. "She burns through them like matches."
Rebecca frowned. "Burns through?"
"I've seen her collect a dozen over the years, each one more gorgeous than the last." He swirled his glass, a dark amber liquid catching the light. "None of them stayed."
She looked back at Vivienne, who was now speaking with a cluster of women across the room. The way she laughed, the way she touched their shoulders, the way she commanded the space around her—it was intoxicating.
"I'll stay," Rebecca said.
Julian raised a skeptical brow. "What makes you different?"
She had no answer. She was barely Rebecca at all—she was a sculpture still being carved from a block of determined flesh. But she felt the truth of her own words like a warm pulse in her chest.
"The word," she said, and she felt a shiver run through her as the stone settled in her mind.
"What word?"
"I can't tell you." She smiled, and her lips felt like slicks of gloss. "It's our secret."
Julian's gaze flickered toward Vivienne, then back to Rebecca. There was something new in his expression, and it made Rebecca feel powerful.
"I think I'm going to enjoy watching you," he said.
"Good." Rebecca lifted her glass. "I like being watched."
She didn't know where those words came from. The old Richard never would have spoken them. But Richard was gone, just a whisper in the dark. Rebecca took a step toward the velvet seats, and the world tilted to match her.
More people came to speak with her. A woman with short platinum hair, a chin-length bob that reflected the lights; she told Rebecca her dress was a masterpiece. A man with a thick beard and rings on every finger, who asked where she'd had her lips done. Another woman, taller than Rebecca, in a dress that was all strap and slender chain, who touched her arm and said, "You're new, aren't you? We can always tell."
Rebecca glowed under each new pair of eyes. She repeated her name, and each time it felt more like a carved piece of her, more permanent and ownable.
At some point, she looked up and realized the evening had deepened around her. The space had grown louder, warmer, more alive. The dance floor pulsed, and she felt the bass through the soles of her heels.
Vivienne appeared at her side, threading her arm through Rebecca's.
"Having fun?" she asked.
"So much," Rebecca said. "Everyone keeps talking to me."
"That's what beauty does," Vivienne said. "It opens doors. It fills rooms. It makes everyone around you want you."
They walked toward the back, away from the dance floor, into a quieter corridor lined with doors. Vivienne stopped at one, pushing it open to reveal a small, dimly lit room. A bed dominated the space, covered in dark velvet. A single lamp cast a golden glow.
"What is this?" Rebecca asked.
"A quiet place," Vivienne said. "For us."
She stepped inside, and Rebecca followed, the door clicking shut behind her. The sound was final—a door closing on the outside world, on everything that wasn't them.
Vivienne turned, and her eyes were dark.
"Tell me what you want," she said.
Rebecca felt the stone in her mind, the word that could unlock everything. "I want you to use me."
Vivienne stepped closer, her hand sliding up Rebecca's side, over the curve of her hip, beneath the edge of her dress.
"I want to hear you say the word," she said.
The stone sat in her mouth, heavy and warm. "Slut."
Light. Sparkling, pink, obliterating light flooded Rebecca's consciousness. She felt the thought of her old life crumble to dust. Her shoulders relaxed. Her jaw went slack, and her eyes widened, bright and empty, waiting for orders.
"On your knees," Vivienne said.
Rebecca dropped. The velvet padding of the floor cushioned her knees, and she looked up at Vivienne with a smile that was pure and vacant.
"Tell me what you are," Vivienne said.
"Your slut."
"Good girl." Vivienne's hand came to rest on the top of Rebecca's blonde head, and the weight of it sent a shiver down her spine. "And what do I do with my slut?"
"Anything," Rebecca said. "You do anything you want with me."
Vivienne's smile was slow and cruel. She released the tie of her silk robe, letting it fall open, revealing her pale stomach and the dark triangle of hair between her legs.
"Show me how much you want it," she said.
Rebecca leaned in, her lips parted, her tongue already extending. She pressed her mouth to Vivienne's skin, dragging her tongue upward, tasting the salt and heat of her. Vivienne's hand tightened in her hair, not guiding, just holding.
She worked her way up, licking along the inside of Vivienne's thigh, kissing the soft skin there. She found the center of her, the wetness already spreading, and she buried her face in it greedily.
"Fuck," Vivienne breathed. "You're a natural at this."
Rebecca moaned in response, the vibration of it humming against Vivienne's clit. She licked and sucked, worshipping with her mouth. Every flick of her tongue drew a small gasp or a tightening of Vivienne's fingers in her hair.
"Enough," Vivienne said eventually, pulling her back.
Rebecca looked up, her lips slick and swollen.
"Please," she said. "Please, I want more."
"You'll get more." Vivienne helped her to her feet and pushed her onto the bed. Rebecca landed on her back, her dress riding up her thighs. Vivienne crawled over her, straddling her hips.
"You're going to take me," Vivienne said. "And you're going to thank me for every inch."
Rebecca's head rolled back, the heat of her body pooling between her legs. "Yes. Yes, thank you, please—"
Vivienne reached down, and Rebecca felt the buckle of the harness against her thigh. She hadn't realized Vivienne was wearing it. Vivienne's fingers found the strap-on, hard and waiting for her.
"Say it," Vivienne said.
"Slut."
"Again."
"Slut."
"Louder."
"SLUT!"
Vivienne pushed inside her in one motion, and Rebecca screamed. The fullness, the stretch—she felt the world whiten around her, reduced to the sensation of being filled so completely.
"Do you feel me?" Vivienne asked, grinding her hips. "Do you feel how deep I am inside you?"
"Yes," Rebecca sobbed. "Yes, please, don't stop—"
Vivienne didn't stop. She fucked her slowly, each thrust a deliberate, devastating drag. Rebecca felt her orgasm building again, a crescendo that would tear her apart.
"I'm close," she gasped. "Please, I'm so close—"
"Not yet," Vivienne said. "Not until I can see you beg."
Rebecca begged. The words spilled from her lips, a stream of incoherent pleas and pathetic sound. She promised anything, everything, her body and soul, her future. She promised to be the perfect slut, the perfect plaything, the perfect doll.
Vivienne watched her come undone, and the glimmer in her eyes was one of savage satisfaction.
"Now," she said. "Come now."
Rebecca came. She convulsed around the strap-on, her body arching off the bed. The orgasm crashed through her, wave after wave, until she was left trembling and breathless.
Vivienne pulled out slowly, and Rebecca collapsed into the velvet, her body singing.
"Please," she whispered, reaching for Vivienne's hand. "Stay."
Vivienne laughed softly and lay down beside her, pulling her close.
"I'm not going anywhere," she said. "You're mine now, Rebecca. And I take care of what's mine."
Rebecca curled into her, feeling the warmth of her skin, the steady beat of her heart. She felt safe, treasured, complete.
Just before sleep pulled her down, she felt Vivienne's hand on her forehead, and she heard a whisper of words as soft as silk.
"Tomorrow," she said. "We begin the real training."